


Cypress

by SkipTheSoundbites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 07:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20926067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkipTheSoundbites/pseuds/SkipTheSoundbites
Summary: Remus Lupin buys his wand. Ollivander POV.





	Cypress

My ancestor, Geraint Ollivander, once wrote that he always found it an honour to match a cypress wand. He knew that witches and wizards who carried them were among the noblest in society and in his, rather more violent times, were likely to die a heroic death. While the latter observation may not apply in our more peaceful era, the former certainly still holds true.

I have not matched many cypress wands in my time but when that moment has occurred, I have followed the careers of those who bear them with great interest. A number of them have gone on to become Aurors while others have pursued a less violent but no less noble calling such as healing or teaching. Service to others seems ingrained in them, even from their earliest years. Indeed, throughout my many years of wandcraft, beginning when I was apprenticed to my father after completing my studies at Hogwarts, I have prided myself on my ability to identify the future owner of a cypress wand before any of my creations have touched their hand. There is a certain confidence in their gait, not arrogance, more a surety of purpose. It is as if they have unknowingly already set out on the noble path that their new wand will guide them along. As such, while I share my ancestor’s sense of honour when I match a cypress wand, I have never been surprised to see the magical flourish of a correctly matched wand.

Until now.

The young boy who is stood in front of me, Remus his father called him, is a pale and slender child with nervously hunched shoulders which give the impression that he would rather sink into the floorboards than be forced to spend another moment as the centre of our attention. There is nothing wrong with nerves of course, many children are nervous when they enter my shop. There are Muggleborns taking their first steps into our world, children from the oldest families desperate to live up to their parents’ expectations and those for whom the thought of boarding school and spending months away from their parents is looming ever larger. I am accustomed to these nerves and for the most part they vanish as soon as children see the first sparks of magic produced by their own wand. Remus however looks as though he is unable to speak.

Normally at this point I would be telling the child about their wand, '10 ¼ inches, Cypress, Unicorn hair core', so that they can regale their family with the minutiae of their new purchase when they return home. Instead, I find myself struck dumb staring at the child with incredulity as his baffled father, 'Lyall' my memory supplies 'Lyall… Lupin Cedar, 9 ½ inches, Unicorn hair', shifts his gaze uncertainly between myself and his son waiting for one of us to speak. 

As is my custom, I had been assessing young Mr Lupin from the moment he had entered my shop. Even before I take my measurements, I am mentally narrowing down the vast selection of wands I have I my shop to find the best fit. Generally, I can gauge which wood and flexibility will be required with a reasonable degree of accuracy although adjustments must sometimes be made to accommodate cores. Nevertheless, I had been confident in my assessment that this particular customer demanded a willow wand. It is an unusual wood, but the ideal choice for an insecure wizard, drawn as it is to those with potential which needs to be tapped. Indeed, the belief passed through many generations of my family is that those with furthest to go will go fastest with willow. 

So firm was I in my conviction that Remus needed a willow wand, that I persuaded myself that my choice of core was wrong, or length, or flexibility. The rejected wands had piled high on the counter as each had failed to produce so much as a flicker. Eventually, and more out of frustration than any real belief in the decision, I had handed the boy a cypress wand. I have long held that willow and cypress are each other’s antithesis. For while the former chooses those have deep seated (though sometimes unwarranted) insecurities the latter finds its partner in those who are unafraid to confront the shadows within their own nature. It was a blind leap of faith, but in my line of work faith is often the best guide.

Sure enough a spark had slipped from the wand’s tip. Tiny, almost unnoticeable but there. I was not sure either of the Lupins had seen it, if my eyes had not been honed over many years to detect the merest flicker of magic I might have missed it myself. Re-energised, I recalled the wand I had initially selected willow, 10 ¼ inches, Unicorn hair. What if my other instincts had been correct? Had my certainty that the boy needed a willow wand clouded my judgement? I had hurried to the back of the shop breathless with excitement. If I was correct then the anxious child waiting in front of my counter was about to join an exclusive group of witches and wizards. I had found the wand I wanted, changing only the wood from my original selection and carefully removed it from its polished case ready to be tried.

When I had handed Remus the wand the effect, as usual, was instantaneous. Golden sparks had rocketed from its tip, both father and sons’ eyes had lit up with uncontained delight and I, I had stared in open mouthed disbelief. I have no idea how long I was stood like that but Mr Lupin’s increasingly worried glances between his astounded son and my motionless fixation eventually brought me to my senses and I smiled an uncertain though genuine smile at the poor boy.

I apologised for my reaction and explained to the pair how rare it was to match a cypress wand and how special the owners inevitably grew up to be (leaving out the heroic deaths of the past of course). This seemed to put the elder Lupin at ease and I watched as his chest swelled with pride and he turned relieved eyes towards his son. Remus, looking no less relieved than his father, seemed stunned by the fact that anyone might consider him noble and was staring at his wand in wonderment. I smiled to myself, humility was a fine trait and would serve the owner of a cypress wand well, but I hoped that the boy would not let it override other aspects of his nature and stifle the potential which I now knew lay buried within.

When I had replaced the wand in its box, Remus, who had been stealing furtive glances throughout, took the bag with shaking hands and handed me a pile of coins in exchange. As he turned and took his father’s hand, he offered me a nervous smile and thanked me in a soft voice before the pair disappeared through the door and into the throng of Diagon Alley.

Clearing away the numerous wands which littered the counter, I paused. These days it was very rare that I was surprised by my work and I was still unsure as to how this newest pairing would fare but I know better than anyone not to question the deep magic of my craft. Nevertheless, I look forward to seeing what young Remus Lupin will accomplish. After all, the wand chooses the wizard.

**Author's Note:**

> All information about Remus' wand and Ollivander's musings on wandlore comes from J. K. Rowling's writing on Pottermore/Wizarding World


End file.
